


Operative

by lyriumveins



Series: Undercover [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Chatting & Messaging, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone Calls & Telephones, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7490091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumveins/pseuds/lyriumveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a member of an international taskforce has its drawbacks, especially when relationships are involved. For example, one of you might get scheduled to an overseas location for an extended amount of time, while the other is stuck doing paperwork back at home base. Distance isn’t a major obstacle to Hanzo or McCree, but it definitely comes with its own share of challenges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operative

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the same universe as [Undercover](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7241365) \- it's kind of like a sequel! You don't have to read Undercover to understand the stuff in this fic, but you can if you'd like some backstory!

**From: “Hanzo”**[ **hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**To: “McCree”** [**jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**Subject: [ Blank ]**  
**Time Sent: 5:01am**

McCree,  
Arrived in Ilios. Am safe.  
We have not been assigned phones yet, hence the e-mail.  
Will call tonight.

\- Hanzo

 **From: “McCree”**[ **jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**To:** **“Hanzo”** [**hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**Subject: hello to you too**  
**Time sent: 5:32am**

Turn down the affection there  
or are we one of _Those Couples_ always sendin each other love notes and whatnot

:-P

-  
_It’s high noon somewhere_.  
  
**From: “Hanzo”**[ **hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**To: “McCree”** [**jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**Subject: [ Blank ]**  
**Time sent: 5:32am**

McCree,  
?

\- Hanzo  
  
**From: “McCree”**[ **jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**To: “Hanzo”** [**hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**Subject: IT WAS A JOKE.**  
**Time sent: 5:38am**

I was bein sarcastic!!!!!!!! Why are you so business-like, our mail aint bein monitored  
I mean if it is then… hello Winston  
YOU DIRTY APE  
  
What are you up to? (Hanzo, not Winston)

-  
_It’s high noon somewhere_.

 **From: “Hanzo”**[ **hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**To: “McCree”** [**jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**Subject: [ Blank ]**  
**Time sent: 5:41am**

McCree,  
I was updating you. That is all. I thought you were asleep.  
I am in a car that was clearly designed for four people, with five other people. That’s six people. Six.  
Six is two more than four.  
Tracer keeps elbowing me. The woman’s elbows are like _knives_.  
Ilios was YOUR idea. YOU brought it up with 76. Please tell me why I am the one stuck here.  
  
I hate that I have to ask this, but why do you keep talking about high noon?

\- Hanzo

 **From: “McCree”**[ **jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**To: “Hanzo”** [**hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**Subject: the real question: why doesnt Hanzo shimada give his emails subject lines**  
**Time sent: 5:43am**

Nah, didn’t get a lick of sleep without ya. Cant sleep w/o holdin onto my sweetie pie darlin, obviously. Miss you like hell and its only been 7 hours. On a scale of 1-10 how fucked am I for the next few weeks?  
Are y’all undercover already? I’ll convince Winston to get that lady a few more fluffy sweaters or somethin. I mean she has to hide the chronoaccelwhatever so thatd make sense right.  
Oh shiyit maybe she can wear one of my SERAPES!  
Anyways once you get to the base im sure you’ll get right on to lovin Ilios. I was stationed there a few years ago and spent a downright unholy amt of time on the beach. Also killed like 20 guys. They were bad I promise.  
Whats the cover this time? A grocery?  
  
it’s called a ‘signature’ and it’s hip. D.Va told me.

-  
_It’s high noon somewhere_.

 **From: “Hanzo”**[ **hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**To: “McCree”** [**jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**Subject: Why should I give them subject lines?**  
**Time sent: 5:47am**

McCree,  
We just have a single flight between us. It will be fine. We will be in touch.  
Yes, we are undercover already. My hair is in a “bun” and I am wearing glasses and I hate everything.  
Please do not give Tracer any of your serapes. That would be awkward for a number of reasons.  
Also, I will not be running amok like you. We have a mission. A mission involving a fake bookstore, not a fake grocery.

No free food for you.  
  
Also, your “signature” is the opposite of hip. Unhip.

\- Hanzo

 **From: “McCree”**[ **jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**To: “Hanzo”** [**hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**Subject: It’s real good for organization! You love organization! I would know ;-)**  
**Time sent: 5:49am**

If I cant be walkin to you you’re too damn far away, darlin. You best keep me updated. I’m already bored as shit. They have me doin paperwork… **PAPERWORK**. When the fuck did i even sign up for paperwork?? Hey, you wanna go vigilante w/ me? Lets make it happen.  
PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE SEND ME A PHOTO OF YOU. I CANT BE MISSIN THE BUN + GLASSES COMBO. Itll sustain me for at least an hour. A whole hour. Also tell me why I cant give tracer a serape or two. There aint a person who ever got hurt by one (1) or two (2) serapes.  
Whats a book?  
(that was a joke)  
……….now that I think about it I aint ever been in a bookstore. Not in my entire life. That’s thirty seven years of livin. Holy hell. I guess I can see why I aint on this mission. Cant argue with the higher ups.

That’s alright I don’t want your dang books. Im clearly the one with more power in this situation: FULL ACCESS TO OVERWATCH CONNECTIONS BABY. im gonna eat burritos every day for weeks and there aint a single Hanzo who can stop me. Ha.

Unhip aint a word.  
Fuck, never mind, it is. just asked winston in one of those Instant Message things and now he’s judging me. and grumpy ‘cause I went and interrupted his precious 6am peanut butter time.

Don’t forget the photo :-P

-  
_It’s high noon somewhere_.

 **From: “Tracer”**[ **gospeedtracergo@over.watch**](mailto:gospeedtracergo@over.watch)  
**To: “McCree”** [**jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch) **;** **“Hanzo”**[ **hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**Subject: LOL**  
**Time sent: 6:00am**

HI JESSE  
May or may not have been reading your love notes over Hanzo’s shoulder (do not want any of your nasty serapes & my elbows are NOT SHARP its just cramped as shite in here). as you LIKELY KNOW he was about to start being difficult about showing u his undercover “Look,” or “Aesthetic,” if you will  
Ur luv put up one hell of a fight but I got the goods you desire, courtesy of my tablet's webcam ;)

**[Image Attached: HAHAHA_HES_AN_OLD_NERD.jpeg]**

If I die it’s hanzo’s doing.  
  
Talk to your BIG GAY ARSE later x  
✩Tracer✩

 **From: “McCree”**[ **jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**To: “Tracer”** [**gospeedtracergo@over.watch**](mailto:gospeedtracergo@over.watch) **; “Hanzo”**[ **hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**Subject: my serapes aint nasty!**  
**Time sent: 6:02am**

Tracer. You are a god damn saint.  
My big gay ass thanks you. So much. **So much**.

-  
_It’s high noon somewhere_.

 **From: “Hanzo”**[ **hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**To: “McCree”** [**jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**Subject: Your serapes are all covered in mysterious stains.**  
**Time sent: 6:06am**

McCree,  
I cannot “go vigilante” with you. Tracer read your foolish joke aloud and now 76 keeps turning around to _glare_ at me. You are sabotaging inter-agent communications from several hundred miles away. I hope you are happy about that.  
You are not to discuss my undercover disguise. It’s bad enough that you have a picture of it. Tracer, stop reading my e-mails from over my shoulder. I know you are.  
She was.  
When did you learn about _books_ , McCree? Are you bluffing? I believe you are.  
When I am back we will visit a bookstore together.  
  
Don’t eat too many burritos. You will _definitely_ get sick. Mercy is not with you. She is here in Ilios with me and practically sitting on top of Pharah.  
  
Also, we both know that you will still dutifully send me gifts in the form of ingredients and saké. Do not try to be a tease, Jesse McCree. It does not become you.  
  
Best of luck with the paperwork.  
  
\- Hanzo  
  
**From: “McCree”**[ **jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**To: “Hanzo”** [**hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**Subject: You wrap up in my serapes sometimes, you traitor!**  
**Time sent: 6:12am**  
  
DARN TOOTIN IM HAPPY ABOUT SABOTAGING YOUR COMMUNICATIONS AND WHATNOT. You can’t be gettin TOO cozy up there, right?  
Too late the pic tracer sent is already at phone AND computer background status. Your shocked expression is priceless n mixed with just the right amount of outrage. Makes me feel like you’re in the room here with me as im typin this here message.  
  
tracer, you are an angel and I am in your debt. you have my permission to do endless snooping on hanzo if it means you will keep providin me with such fine content.

I would gladly brave a bookstore if you were at my side, Hanzo Shimada.  
(Admit it that was romantic as SHIT. I am ROCKIN this correspondence.)

While you’re away I gotta cope ok and burritos is how I cope. I ATE EM 24/7 BEFORE I KNEW YOU YKNOW. somehow I am still alive, though I am ADMITTEDLY not sure how I made it WITHOUT YOUR SWEET ASS, good thing we met when we did.

Hanzo Shimada’s ass saves lives.

Now youll know how mercy felt about our displays of affection durin our last mission …….. you’ll miss me JUST LIKE HOW SHE MISSED PHARAH. They’re the designated “Cute Mission Couple,” now. heartbreaking stuff.

…Jokes aside keep an eye on Pharah for me too y’hear??? Havent gone on a mission with her in fuckin months and it has me antsy.

Dammit Hanzo at least pretend to take my bribin tactics seriously. How bout this: I’ll send you a burrito. Ha ha ha.

I’m gonna put all the paperwork thru a shredder.

-

 _It’s high noon_.

 **From: “Hanzo”**[ **hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**To: “McCree”** [**jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**Subject: I ‘wrap up in them’ because they remind me of you. That does not mean they are any less stained.**  
**Time sent: 6:20am**

McCree,  
Please develop some semblance of impulse control while I am away. I am worried about you.  
And change your backgrounds at once! If you are going to broadcast an embarrassing photograph of me to the world, please remember that I, too, have ammunition. Here is an example:

**[Image Attached: Grumpy_Morning_McCree.jpeg]**

I have made this my background as an act of defiance, just so you know.  
…This must count as a misuse of Overwatch’s resources. We are going to get written up. Again. For the third time this month.  
(Please note that I am choosing to ignore your comments about my ass.)

If you send me a burrito I will send it right back. Actually, no. I will not do that, because, knowing who you are as a person, you will likely eat it. And by that time, said burrito will be disgusting, and you will get food poisoning and wither into nothingness. That would be a shame, because I already miss you. The last thing I need is for you to wither into nothingness.  
  
Pharah was just discussing her previous mission in Dorado. Something involving the use of a concussive blast. Five members of Los Muertos were blown off a building. Needless to say, you do not need to worry about her.

We are approaching the new base. I will call you when I have time.  
Please remember to charge your phone.  
  
\- Hanzo

~

Hanzo turns his laptop off. The wireless signal was getting progressively worse, anyway.

“Aw, you done talking to lover-boy?” Tracer coos. Her elbow is still digging into his side. “Missing him a bunch, aren’tcha?”

Hanzo frowns.

“Long distance can be annoyance,” Zarya says, from the driver’s seat, “but perfectly doable.”

Hanzo’s frown deepens.

“You’re member of Overwatch,” Soldier: 76 huffs from the seat next to her. “We can’t accommodate personal relationships when we’re scheduling. Get used to it.”

 _Shit_.

McCree and Hanzo were doing well enough since they started their relationship during their last mission. There were a few incidents but nothing too out-of-the-ordinary.

…Nothing out-of-the-ordinary besides Hanzo going to _extreme_ lengths to avoid certain agents… Namely, Soldier: 76 and Genji. 

“He’s still _new_ , Jack,” Mercy states, from the seat behind him. “And you know how Jesse can be. Calm down. Getting riled up is not good for your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure’s – !” 76 stops yelling mid-sentence. “…Fine.”

Tracer glances at Hanzo. Hanzo glances at Tracer.

“So,” Pharah says, also from the backseat. “Ilios.”

Hanzo simply rests his head against the car window and closes his eyes.

He is certain that 76 absolutely despises him. Almost every time he has interacted with the man, said interaction has been negative in some way. He was civil enough before Hanzo went on his first mission. Since then…

Well, since then, it has been quite a time.

First, he got in trouble with 76 right after Hanzo and McCree went on their first mission together. They did not request backup when they _truly_ should have, purely because they were bored. It was foolish. Hanzo accepted this.

However, shortly afterwards, McCree complained to 76 that their joint punishment (their base posed as an undercover coffee shop; fittingly, their punishment was a week-long work shift) was too cruel (or, as he put it, “hell-like and uncalled for”). Of course, Hanzo got scolded for complaining, too, even though he did not utter a word during that particular meeting.

Also, Hanzo _swears_ that the mission reports he writes up _always_ need extensive revisions whenever he is reporting to 76.

To make matters worse, Hanzo made the crucial error of pointing out that 76 “accidentally” ate the yogurt he placed in the communal fridge, back in Gibraltar, a few days ago. That… Did not go well at all.

They simply do not get along very well. Hanzo would not care about this _at all_ (frankly, he expected far more Overwatch agents to resent his existence), but… 76 is _special_ to McCree. He is somewhat of a father figure, regardless of how much McCree claims otherwise.

Still, Hanzo is not sure if he cares enough to do anything about it. He was not about to start acting like a fool solely to impress the other man.

Definitely not.

“There it is!” Zarya announces, pointing ahead with one hand while keeping the other firmly planted on the steering wheel. “Home for the next month.”

It’s a rather large bookstore. This is unsurprising, since it must also house the six agents. The building is tall and structured out of white-and-blue stone, similar to its surrounding architecture. Of course, it has a clear view of the sea.

“Alright!” Tracer smiles wide. “I’m gonna spend the rest of today on the beach!”

“You’re also going to help with setting up the shop properly,” 76 says. “Work starts from tomorrow.”

“Aw, what?!” Tracer exclaims. “But… Jet lag!”

“The flight was relatively short,” Pharah points out.

“Hey!” Tracer squirms around to face her, her elbow practically _knifing_ Hanzo in his side. “You’re used to it! You’re always flying.”

“That is a different kind of flying, Tracer. Also, aren't you a pilot?”

"Oi! Doesn't mean I don't get jet lag!"

They continue their playful bickering and Hanzo regrets turning off his laptop.

~

 **From: “McCree”**[ **jhighnoonmccree@over.watch**](mailto:jhighnoonmccree@over.watch)  
**To: “Hanzo”** [**hshimada@over.watch**](mailto:hshimada@over.watch)  
**Subject: I bet you’re responsible for some of those stains if u catch my meanin ;-)**  
**Time sent: 6:28am**  
  
THAT MORNIN PHOTO IS JUST PLAIN UNFAIR!!! I was half asleep when u took it!!!! It aint doin my good looks any justice! Damn it. You drive a hard bargain Hanzo shimada. too bad though, I aint changin a darn thing on this end. Glasses + Bun Hanzo is here to stay. I guess thisll be a test to see who breaks first, huh? I can ASSURE you it won’t be me…  
Unless you send me somethin even better of course…. ;-)  
Again, almost 99% sure we aint bein monitored so aint any way we can be written up. We are ENTITLED to some PRIVACY and plus emails are free. STAYIN IN CONTACT IS IMPORTANT FOR OUR MENTAL HEALTH ETC so feel free to compose a fuckin sonnet dedicated to my hind quarters and don’t go pretendin you aint missin em bc you are always VERY vocal with appreciation in all other scenarios.

Your burrito story is weirdly detailed, are you ok? I’ll do my best to not wither into nothingness but only if you promise you won’t.

Glad to hear that Fareeha’s still got it. See if yall can schedule a mission or two together. Then you can tell me even more gruesome stories :-P e.g. she should make some bad guys go flyin and you can SNIPE THEIR FACES OFF. MID-AIR. This has GOT to happen, make it a reality. I believe in y’all.

  
aaaanyway my phone is always charged. I’ll talk to you soon, sweetpea  
  
-  
_It’s high noon_.

McCree hits the send button and watches the message on his screen disappear. Leaning back in his chair, he wonders if it’s acceptable to start smoking at 6:30 in the morning. Deeming it _perfectly_ fine, he reaches for his cigar box and grabs one, perching it between his lips as he lights it.

Hanzo wasn’t around last night, since he left for his fancy little Mediterranean mission. It felt weird. McCree’s tired but definitely not in the _sleep_ way. Nah, he’s tired in the _sit-real-still-and-brood_ way.

He groans.

 _Jesse McCree, you’re actin’ like a dang fool_ , he thinks to himself. _You’re in Overwatch. This is normal shit_.

It wasn’t like he ever got “involved” with anyone in Overwatch, though. Sure, he’s seen people on the side, mostly during missions – but those relationships weren’t ever serious and he always knew it. They were more like flings – one night stands, that kind of stuff. Most were damn fun and McCree was more than content with that sort of life.

Of course, meeting Hanzo Shimada changed that completely. The guy’s fucking gorgeous, and McCree was hellbent on winning him over, trying to be as smooth with him as humanly possible.

That being said, McCree couldn’t even make casual conversation with Hanzo when he first joined Overwatch.

It didn’t help that he wore his shirt so… _Loosely_.

His bare chest was _right there_. His tattoo was out in the open, all the time.

Hell, McCree couldn’t even make proper eye contact with the guy for his first week.

Anyway, thanks to some fine-ass pickup lines, shit worked out for them. McCree’s grateful, even if it means acting like a small, neglected puppy when Hanzo has to leave.

 _This better get easier over time_ , McCree thinks, brushing his cigar’s ashes into a bright red ashtray resting on his desk. _‘Cause if the others can do it, I sure as hell can_.

He re-opens Hanzo’s emails, reading them all again. He feels like he’s too old to be acting like a lovesick kid but, _dammit_ , he’s got it for Hanzo, he really does.

That’s when he reads the last line Hanzo sent.

_Please remember to charge your phone._

In his reply, McCree claimed that his phone’s always charged, but that was just a joke. Hanzo knows better than anyone that it actually _never_ is.

McCree grunts, standing up. His whole body cracks. _Ugh_.

He wanders around his room, looking around for the charger… But it’s gone. _What a surprise_.

He grabs his phone off from his bedside table. _Maybe you’re already charged up_. He holds down the power button.

Nothing happens. It’s totally dead.

Grumbling, he puts it back down on the table, then pulls on sweatpants and an old, tacky sweater that’s way too tight for him now. He puts his hat on, too.

He’s assuming that he left the charger outside in the base, somewhere… Probably the breakroom. He lights up another cigar and leaves his room – heading down the hall and into the central area of their base. There’s tons of desks and computer screens – all turned off for now. McCree doesn’t know the first thing about operating all this fancy Overwatch tech, but it’s all good because he’s not exactly expected to do much of that.

Or he isn’t _usually_ , anyway. He’s not sure why they have him on office duty for the next few weeks.

 _They sure as hell are lucky that I ain’t the same guy I was_ , McCree thinks as he walks across the tiled floor. _You try tellin’ Blackwatch Agent McCree to sit on his ass and do paperwork all day. He’d burn this whole place to the ground_ , _or at least throw a computer through a fuckin’ window_.

He makes his way to the breakroom, yawning. It’s dark inside – to dark to see anything.

That is, until some green circles of light appear, glowing eerily in the darkness.

McCree reflexively reaches for Peacekeeper, but he’s unarmed.

 _Fuck_.

“McCree?” A voice calls out.

Oh.

“Genji?!”

“Yes,” Genji says. McCree can _still_ only see his… Lights. Nothing else. “What’s the matter?”

“You – Dammit, can’t see shit...” McCree flails around in the dark, his hand pressed against the wall until he finally finds the light switch. Flipping it on, he startles at how _bright_ the room is, now, and rubs as his eyes.

“Are you smoking already?” Genji asks, laughter in his voice. “The sun just rose!”

“Listen, I had a rough night,” McCree grumbles.

“I understand,” Genji says.

“Is this – is this some kinda robot thing?” McCree asks, gesturing at Genji. He is sitting, cross-legged, on the break room’s table.

“I was meditating,” Genji clarifies. McCree still feels like the guy is trying his best to hold back a fit of laughter.

“Oh. Uh.” McCree glances around the room. “I’ll leave ya to that, then. Just gotta find a… Thing…”

“What are you looking for?” Genji unfolds his legs. “I can help you.”

McCree blinks. “You don’t gotta if you’re busy.”

“I want to,” Genji replies. He’s insisting on helping, so…

“Alrighty,” McCree says, a little warily. He’s not sure why. “I’m lookin’ for my charger. My phone charger.”

“Ah.” Genji nods. “Charging it for once, McCree? What has _become_ of you?”

McCree barks out a laugh. “Don’t be givin’ me sass, Genji.”

They shuffle around the break room together, looking for the phone charger. During their search, McCree finds a lengthy, crumpled-up scientific article stuffed under the sofa – he assumes that Mei got really pissed at someone’s crappy research… There’s also a CD case with “LÚCIO + BASTION COLLAB” written on it, but the CD itself is missing.

Genji finds a ton of bubblegum wrappers crammed in a cupboard (definitely D.Va’s doing), as well as a crude, wrinkled drawing of someone with purple skin and a gigantic gun… A damn clear resemblance to a certain Talon agent.

Genji’s the one who brings an end to the search. He finds the charger right behind the microwave.

“Well, ain’t that a fire hazard,” McCree comments as Genji hands it to him.

“We both know that Overwatch is no stranger to breakroom fires.” Genji points at the breakroom’s whiteboard. It’s attached to the wall, right above the sofa.

 _[ 3 ] Days Since Our Last Incident _is written across the top of it, in green marker.

“Still don’t get how that toaster exploded,” McCree says. “I mean, that Junker guy’s kinda bad with knives, but –”

“A proficiency with knives would not have changed the outcome of that incident,” Genji says. “At least, that is what I think.”

“Fair enough,” McCree says. “Anyways, thanks for helpin’ me out. Hanzo’s gonna call real soon and I’ll never hear the end of it if –”

 _Fuck_.

McCree didn’t mean to mention Hanzo. Shit. Fuck. He’s been avoiding Genji for a while – not because Hanzo told him to or anything.

He just figured it’d be… Awkward.

He’s on good terms with Genji, sure. They knew each other back in the day, before Overwatch disbanded – though Genji was practically a different person, back then. Real angry. Broody all the time, with one single goal _constantly_ on his mind: Dismantling the Shimada clan. Once that was done, he seemed kinda lost. It was around that time that their friendship drifted – then Overwatch had a ton of drama and McCree split before he could see it all come crashing down.

Still, McCree was real convinced that someone went and replaced Genji’s brain when they met up, years later, for Overwatch’s recall.

Turns out Genji just met Zenyatta.

Now he’s focused on _maintaining balance_ and all that stuff – stuff that McCree doesn’t have the _faintest_ amount of interest in. Still, the guy’s happier, so it’s not like McCree has some kind of complaint.

Genji _did_ tell him some stuff about Hanzo, though – before McCree even knew the guy. Not all of it was good, but… Not all of it was bad.

McCree’s no stranger to that kind of pain.

And, now?

Well…

_Hey, Genji? You know your brother who was kinda forced to murder you and all, back in the day? Well, turns out we’re bonin’ each other now, so like –_

“Ah, yes. You are seeing my brother now, right?” Genji doesn’t seem bothered… Not like McCree can exactly tell, thanks to the guy’s whole… Robotic-mask-thing.

“Yeah,” McCree replies, hesitantly. “I’m seein’ him. We, y’know. It’s been. Yeah.”

Genji tilts his head slightly – clearly wondering what the fuck McCree’s doing.

It’s all good. McCree doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, either.

“I… Gotta go,” McCree says. “Um. Gotta charge the… Phone. For the call. Hanzo. Uh. Catch ya later, man.” He reaches out, giving Genji a quick pat on the shoulder. “Enjoy your marinating.”

“You mean _meditating_ ,” Genji says.

“Oh.”

 _Awkward_.

 _So awkward_.

 _The absolute worst_.

McCree nods briskly. “Yeah. That.”

He turns on his heel and speed-walks out of the break room.

~

“Howdy!” McCree’s voice _booms_ out of the phone.

Luckily, Hanzo was expecting this enthusiastic greeting; he pre-emptively held the phone away from his ear. “McCree. Hello.” He presses it against his ear once more. “Your phone is charged.”

“What’d I tell ya?!” McCree laughs. “It’s always charged!”

“You are a changed man, clearly. Perhaps it is a good thing that I am on this mission.”

“Maybe. Hell, at this rate – Fuck.” McCree lets out a loud sigh. “Can’t even play along with this.”

“You made a good attempt,” Hanzo says. “A commendable effort.”

“Thank ya kindly.”

Hanzo smirks. “I have some bad news, however.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. We will not receive personal phones for this mission. We are all sharing one.”

“Fuckin’ typical!” McCree roars. Again, Hanzo expected the outburst and held the phone away for its duration. “As soon as we get separated or whatever, the budget _magically_ tightens. I see how it is.”

“Well, there will be a phoning schedule from tomorrow onwards,” Hanzo says. “So –”

“Noon,” McCree says, quickly. “Sign up for noon.”

“I already did,” Hanzo says, rolling his eyes. “I knew you –”

“ _High noon_.”

“Yes. I know.”

“You’re the best.”

“…Stop.”

McCree laughs again and Hanzo lies down on the bed – flat, on his back. His accommodations are, admittedly, quite nice. Everything is very clean; the furniture feels fresh and new. Soft morning sunlight is shining in through his bedroom window, the dark blue curtains fluttering in the breeze. Ilios is not too bad.

“How’s Ilios?” McCree asks. Hanzo wonders if the man can read his mind. “Been down on the beach yet?”

“No. We are supposedly setting the shop right now.” _Supposedly_.

“Ah. Jack’s out?”

Hanzo snorts. “Yes. He left to talk to the client – the leader of some expedition.”

“So y’all’re goofin’ off.”

“You wanted me to call you, Jesse,” Hanzo says, feigning hurt.

“I did!” McCree exclaims. “Just can’t believe I _ever_ thought you were a stickler for the rules…”

“Well, now you know the truth.” Whenever McCree says things like that, Hanzo feels somewhat self-conscious… As if he truly is a complete rule-breaker (which he is _not_ – he simply has his needs, too). “That aside, Ilios is okay.”

“Hanzo, you’re in a top-tier vacation destination! There’s friggin’ pamphlets and shit about Ilios.”

“There are pamphlets about a lot of places.”

“You know what I mean!” McCree exclaims. “Listen, you better go on out there and enjoy yourself. And, y’know. Not die. Or get hurt. Or blow your cover. Nothin’ bad like that.”

“Jesse McCree.” Hanzo sits up on his bed. “Are you _worried_ about me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” McCree says, very sweetly.

“Answer my question.”

“…Fine.” McCree grunts. “’Course I’m worried ‘bout you. We do all sortsa dangerous crap. Ain’t I allowed to care ‘bout the fate of my honey darlin’?”

“I can assure you, I have been in far more dangerous situations,” Hanzo replies, choosing to ignore the nickname. “One included you. Or have you forgotten our escapade on Route 66?”

McCree laughs. “Still consider that our first date.”

“A very lethal first date.”

“It ain’t a good first date without some bad-guy-corpses and you know that, Hanzo Shimada.”

“You are absolutely unbelievable.”

“And you love it,” McCree says.

Hanzo laughs softly, though it comes out more like a cough. He is fairly certain that McCree can decipher it accurately. “Hm.”

“Playin’ all coy,” McCree huffs. “Anyways, keep me updated, y’hear?”

“If you insist,” Hanzo says. “…I tire of talking about myself.”

“Well, ain’t nothin’ going on with me. I’m tired ‘n pissy.”

“You are getting ready for an exciting day of paperwork, I’m sure.”

McCree groans. “I’d give Tracer _all_ my fuckin’ serapes if it meant I could be up there with you. D’ya think she’d give in?”

“It is a bit too late for that,” Hanzo replies. “Also, she made it quite clear that she did not want any of your serapes. Why are you so hung up on them?”

“’Cause your messages got me thinkin’ about _you_ wearin’ _my_ serapes and nappin’ in them and – Wait, did you read the last email I sent you?”

“Not yet.”

“Alrighty.”

“…Did you include something inappropriate?”

“You know it, honey pie.”

Hanzo sighs. “I am not going to read it.”

“It’s all good. I know you will.”

“Cocky.”

“That’s a real interestin’ word choice…”

Hanzo has to hold back another laugh. “McCree.” He’s doing his best to sound stern. “Please.”

“Like I said earlier: You know you love it.”

“You make such comments and yet, I am the one who is called _coy_.” Hanzo glances at the clock hung up on the wall – it is already 7:30. “I… Have to go.”

“Gotcha. You don’t wanna get caught sneakin’ phone time when Jack’s away.”

“Essentially,” Hanzo replies. “ _Someone_ should try to set up the store as he asked. I do not need him to be even more displeased with my presence.”

“For the love of…” McCree sighs. “Hanzo, I keep tellin’ ya. He’s like that with _everyone_. Cross m’heart.”

“Sure,” Hanzo says, not even trying to sound convinced. “That aside, I will get in contact with you again soon. Try to behave. Do your work.”

“Yeah, yeah. Won’t be startin’ fires or send tech flyin’ through windows.”

“That is very reassuring.”

“Glad to hear that,” McCree says. “Just do me a favor, alright? Jack ain’t mad at you, so stop bein’ so tense around him.”

“I am not tense around anyone,” Hanzo retorts.

“Sure, sure,” McCree says, and Hanzo can hear the smirk in his voice. “Talk to you later, sweet cheeks.”

 _Was that a comment about my ass?!_ – No, Hanzo is not entertaining that thought.

He… Does wonder if he should call McCree by a nickname, though… But which one? McCree has dozens of nicknames for Hanzo, yet Hanzo is at a complete loss.

“Yes,” he says, stiffly – giving up on the nickname lest McCree tease him for being absent-minded. “Goodbye.”

He ends the call quickly, before McCree can distract him further.

He then puts his glasses on – they are cheaply made and simply part of his disguise – and leaves the room, the phone clutched in his hand.

~

McCree stares blankly at the screen in front of him.

A spreadsheet stares right back.

 _Expense Report: Master Document_ is written across the top in a bolded font.

Right underneath this title, in a smaller, italicized font, is a note from Winston: _Yes, you have to do this._

“Why?” McCree asks, weakly.

“I asked myself that, too,” D.Va says. “Then I gave up!”

McCree looks over to her – she’s sitting at the station directly across from his. She doesn’t have a spreadsheet open… No, she’s playing some game. She’s making some blue character run around in all sorts of weird loops.

Just looking at it is making McCree wanna puke. Motion sickness and all.

He scowls at the thick pile of folders currently resting on his desk. There’s practically a tower of them. The expense reports for their missions are sorted in those folders… McCree has to put all that data into Overwatch’s database.

D.Va and Lúcio are supposedly helping. They can edit the document, too.

“Don’t give up, you two!” Lúcio exclaims, from his desk. It’s right next to D.Va’s. “Here, it’s not too bad if we – _hold up_ , is that _Knuckles_?!”

He starts chattering with D.Va, all excitedly. McCree assumes it’s related to that game.

He groans reaches for his pack of cigars. As he takes one out of its packaging, he remembers that he promised Hanzo he’d actually _do_ this boring shit.

 _Well, I can smoke_ and _get shit done, right?_

He lights the cigar, balancing it between his lips as he grabs a folder. He opens it up and starts reading through the expense report for the King’s Row mission that Overwatch did last month.

“Woah, McCree!” D.Va gasps. “Are you… Working?!”

“You feeling alright?” Lúcio’s concerned. “You need me to get you some meds?”

“I’m doin’ very well,” McCree says. “Don’t be bullyin’ your elders, kiddies.” 

Lúcio laughs. McCree glances over to them.

D.Va’s folded her arms and has the single biggest, shit-eating grin McCree’s ever seen on _anyone_.

“He’s doing it ‘cause his boyfriend asked him to,” D.Va says. “Jesse McCree’s _whipped_.”

McCree makes an assortment of incoherent noises. Noises of _protest_.

Meanwhile, Lúcio’s laughing all over again. “That’s actually mad sweet.”

“I ain’t doin’ it for anybody but myself!” McCree announces – his cigar almost slips out of his mouth. “Just – Let’s just get on it.”

“Boo! No fun!” D.Va sticks her tongue out at him. “Lúcio was right, you know! It _is_ sweet!”

“Yeah, yeah.” McCree starts entering data into the spreadsheet – _how and why the hell did Tracer buy twenty-one jars of pickles with Overwatch cash_ – and the other two agents just won’t stop giggling. “Y’know what’d be real sweet, too? Some help with this crap.”

“I just can’t believe it,” D.Va continues. “You’re getting all domestic!”

“Like hell,” McCree retorts.

“You must be missing him a lot,” Lúcio says. “If you ever get lonely, lemme know. I’m _always_ down to chill.”

“I don’t miss him,” McCree lies. “I ain’t lonely.”

“Yeah, right!” D.Va gets out of her seat, bounding over to McCree. She puts her hands on his shoulders. “Hey, hey! How about you do something nice for him? Besides your actual job, I mean.”

McCree frowns. “Like?”

“I dunno!” D.Va sways him a bit. “I exchange mission gifts with friends all the time, though. Like when I was undercover last month!" She points at Lúcio. "Lúcio sent me a mix. I play it during streams, now. It’s a huge hit.”

“And Hana made me this.” Lúcio holds his hand out. “Boom! Friendship bracelet.”

Sure enough, there’s a cloth bracelet tied around his wrist. A tiny frog-like charm’s attached to it.

“That’s nice ‘n all, but there ain’t no way Hanzo wants anythin’ like that,” McCree says.

He’s starting to worry, though.

Should he be putting more thought into doing something for Hanzo?! He hasn’t sent anyone _mission presents_ since his Blackwatch days. This one time, he sent Reyes a _huge_ bottle of prune juice, but that was technically a birthday present. Reyes also nearly killed him over it. ( _Worth it_.)

“Well, what does Hanzo like?” D.Va leans against McCree’s desk, facing him. “Besides _you_ , duh.”

“Alcohol,” McCree states. “Uh… Japanese food…”

“You can get food together once he’s back,” Lúcio says. “Think about fancier stuff.”

“But something Japanese might be good,” D.Va says. She blows a bubble with her gum, then pops it. “Maybe you can ask Genji? He _is_ Hanzo’s brother, after all.”

McCree splutters, this time dropping the cigar. It lands on the desk and ashes spill from it. “Fuckin’ – I don’t – Agh.” McCree puts out the cigar, stuffing it in his desk’s ash tray.

“Are you done with being a big mess?” D.Va asks, sweetly.

“Shut it, missy,” McCree says. “I can’t go askin’ Genji anythin’ like that.”

“Oh, ‘cause of their baggage?” Lúcio nods. “That’s fair enough. Genji’d be cool with it, though. Seriously.”

“Yeah,” D.Va says. “Genji _was_ the person who led the mission. Y’know, the one to recruit Hanzo. He’d love to help you out.”

“Just don’t want Hanzo to be thinkin’ I’m _conspirin’_ with his brother, that’s all,” McCree grumbles. “He’s dealin’ with enough crap.”

“Still, it’s an option, at least!” D.Va exclaims, clapping her hands together. “Go get ‘em, McCree!”

She cheers. Lúcio does, too. McCree wonders where the hell they get all this energy from.

Of course, their rowdiness gets cut short by an incoming call notification on all of their computers. More specifically, it’s an incoming call from _Winston_. He probably checked in on the spreadsheet and saw their (lack of) progress.

D.Va scrambles back to her desk and Lúcio insists on taking the blame…

McCree doesn’t bother fighting it, though.

As Winston appears on their screens and lets out a tired sigh – “ _What’s distracting you now, you guys?”_ – McCree lets his thoughts wander (it’s not his first Winston-lecture and it certainly won’t be his last).

He wonders if he really should ask Genji for advice.

~

Hanzo sighs, looking down at the book in his hand.

 _The Art of Lamp-Making_.

He places it on the shelf, next to _The Ethics of Horticulture_.

There is, apparently, no theme-based organizational system in place for their bookstore. On one hand, this is risky – what if one of the customers happens to get suspicious? Most bookstores have books sorted by genre. However, on the other hand, Hanzo is _not_ spending hours sorting books, and he’s fairly certain that no one will actually care.

Therefore, he is remaining quiet.

He reaches into the moving crate, grabbing onto another book. They were donated from various agents, found or bought in various places around the world. Hanzo could not contribute anything – he always had to travel very lightly prior to joining Overwatch – but the organization still managed to acquire a significantly large heap of books… Literally enough to fill a store. Luckily, Ilios is a tourist hotspot, and, thusly, most of the bookstore’s patrons will be of varying backgrounds, fluent in a multitude of languages.

Though the probability of any customer finding something they truly _want_ is quite... Low.

Hanzo examines the book in his hand. It appears to be written in Russian, with a tacky, colorful cover depicting a cartoon cow.

“I thought these crates were already sorted by language,” Hanzo sneers. He was not assigned to the packing crew. If he was, he surely would not have made such a foolish error.

“What are you saying over there?” Zarya calls out as she emerges from the back room. Hanzo almost did not recognize her – she dyed her hair black for the mission. She is carrying two large crates – one in each arm – as if they weigh nothing. 

“There was a Russian book in here,” Hanzo replies. “That is all.”

“Russian?” Zarya drops the crates onto the floor with a heavy thud. One is labeled _French_ and the other is _English 3.0_. “Give it here.”

Hanzo walks over to her, handing her the book. Her eyes flit over the cover and she lets out a bark of laughter.

“ _History of Russian Cattle_ ,” she says.

“Oh,” Hanzo says.

“We have no normal books,” Zarya says, tossing the book into the _French_ crate. “Our bookstore is crap.”

“Look on the bright side!” Tracer calls out. She’s currently draped across a table. Her laptop is in front of her – she is allegedly working. “Once we _mysteriously_ go out of business, no one’ll question a thing!”

“True,” Zarya says, nodding.

Hanzo eyes the _History of Russian Cattle_ book, which is still resting atop the French books. He should put that in the Russian crate, for organization’s sake…

“76 wasn’t fussed about it so we’re probably in the clear,” Pharah says, from the bookshelf she is currently stocking. “It’s not like we’re looking to make a profit or anything,”

“It’s 2076, no one even goes to bookstores anymore,” Tracer says. Hanzo frowns.

“Don’t let Angela hear you say that,” Pharah says dryly. Hanzo silently agrees that Mercy is in the right. “…We have a _huge_ amount of Chinese books about desserts. _Why_?”

“Mei’s ice cream phase,” Zarya states, turning to her. Hanzo uses this opportunity to stealthily grab the Russian book from the French crate. “I had stomachaches for weeks.”

“The world’s strongest woman, done in by eating too many desserts,” Tracer prattles. “That’d make a bloody hilarious headline.”

“Do not go there,” Zarya says, gravely. Tracer laughs.

“The pictures are nice,” Pharah says as she flips through the book. “Hmm… Ice cream cake… Haven’t had one of those in _years_ …”

Tracer sits upright. “We should make one,” she says, very seriously.

“No,” Hanzo says, stiffly. “We should _stay on task_.” He walks over to the crate filled with Russian books (most seem to be related to exercising), appropriately storing the cattle book.

Tracer groans, flopping back down on the table. “Nooo!”

“He’s right,” Pharah says, closing the dessert book. “76 will _kill_ us if we slack off. Angela, too.”

“Correction!” Tracer exclaims. “Angela’ll kill all of us _except_ you.”

“What will _Angela_ be doing, now?” Mercy walks into the store, arms folded with a smile on her face.

“Nothing!” Tracer sings. “We were just hard at work, over here!”

“Are you done with the report?” Pharah asks, and Mercy nods.

“I thought I would help with setting up,” she says. “I figured you would need all the help you could get… And I was right. You’ve barely made any progress.”

“Broke my record on Minesweeper, though,” Tracer says.

 _So she_ was _off-task_ , Hanzo thinks to himself. _That is no surprise_.

“You just said you were hard at work,” Mercy points out.

Tracer purses her lips in an attempt to look innocent. Hanzo rolls his eyes.

Mercy sighs. “What will we do with you, Lena…?”

“Love me dearly,” Tracer replies. Hanzo rolls his eyes again.

Mercy shakes her head, laughing as she walks over to help Pharah with stocking the bookshelf.

The group keeps chatting but Hanzo stops paying attention to them, choosing to focus solely on his work instead. He decides to just place books on shelving without checking their titles, regardless of whether or not they were properly sorted back in Gibraltar… Time is of the essence and they can fix any errors later on.

Besides, the others do not seem very fussed about what they are doing.

Hanzo has become… _Better_ with people. That is what McCree has been saying, anyway. Hanzo spends most of his time training on his own, but certain members of Overwatch simply cannot keep their professional and private lives separate.

…Though Hanzo has no right looking down on them, considering his relationship with McCree.

Regardless, Hanzo might not actively participate in any of their antics, but… He listens, sometimes. Mostly when he is forced to. They tend to tire him out very quickly. He cannot keep up.

“Oh, Jack should be back soon,” Mercy says, after a while.

That is enough to catch Hanzo’s attention once more.

“What, really?!” Tracer gapes at her. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?!”

“I thought you knew,” Mercy says. “I told Pharah to relay the message. ‘ _Jack will be back by 8:30_.’”

They all stare at Pharah, who looks very sheepish.

“I did not hear this message,” Zarya says.

“That’s because _something_ distracted me.” Pharah shoots Mercy a very knowing look – Mercy pointedly looks away.

“Right, well!” Tracer shuts her laptop. “The important thing here’s that Jack’s gonna kill us!”

Mercy chuckles. “He won’t.”

“He totally will!”

“Please,” Mercy says. “He is all bark, no bite.”

 _That sounds like something McCree would say_ , Hanzo thinks.

“Also, it is not as if we have not made _any_ progress,” Mercy says. “For instance, my report is all done.”

“Oh, _ha-ha_ ,” Tracer says, clearly sarcastic. “Little Miss Angel here’s _cleverly_ covered her own arse.”

“It is all part of the job,” Mercy retorts with a little wink. She bends down to pick up another book. “Speaking of jobs… Get to work, Tracer. Now.”

“Fine, fine!”

Hanzo startles slightly – Tracer is suddenly next to him.

_That fucking chronal accelerator._

He forgot she had it. She’s wearing a bulky sweater – part of her disguise – so he did not see it.

“I thought you were working on your laptop,” Hanzo says dryly.

“Nah, that was a fib,” Tracer says nonchalantly. “Here, let me help you, love! Ooh, what’s this?!”

Hanzo scowls as Tracer picks up a book from the crate – there’s only a few left, now.

“…Oh. Oh, wow.” Tracer bites her lip. “This is some _interesting_ stuff.”

Hanzo glances over her shoulder, to see… A very inappropriate illustration, depicting two people engaging in… Sexual activities.

He flushes immediately, turning away as if to shield his eyes.

“What the hell, Hanzo?!” Tracer laughs. “Real innocent reaction, there! Are you a teenager?!”

Hanzo can feel his blush deepening. _Fuck_.

“It just surprised me,” he says, trying to keep his voice firm. Tracer’s _still_ laughing. “Be quiet!”

“What is it?” Zarya’s walking over to them.

“Some risqué content!” Tracer exclaims, holding up the book, open to show off the illustration. “Though I _do_ think the artist’s depiction of the genitals are rather dodgy.”

“Those are very large breasts,” Zarya says, nodding.

“Makes it quite hard to suspend my disbelief,” Tracer continues.

“Lena…” Mercy sighs.

“What? I’m just saying, it’s all very excessive.” She examines the page again. “The other person’s dick is also freakishly in my face. What was the artist’s goal, here?”

“Their goal was probably the _obvious_ one,” Pharah says.

“So is this some kind of _immersion_ thing?” Tracer seems to be deep in thought. “Hm…”

“Give it to me,” Hanzo snaps, grabbing it out of her hands.

“Hey!” Tracer splutters. “I wasn’t done with that!”

Hanzo frowns, shutting the book. “We do not have time for –”

“Agents. What are you doing?”

Hanzo freezes in place. Everyone else does, too.

Soldier: 76 is back. His shades are off – hung onto the front of his collar… And he does not look pleased.

“I thought you’d be done by now,” he says. “Hanzo, what are you holding?”

“…A book,” Hanzo replies. He glances at Tracer, who is now pointedly looking at the floor – her previous enthusiasm gone.

“I can see that,” 76 says, gruffly. “Just wondering what’s so interesting about it.”

“Absolutely nothing.” Hanzo wonders if he should start running.

“So everyone’s distracted by _nothing_?”

Hanzo does not know how to reply to that. Maybe he should not bother. Maybe he should simply summon his Spirit Dragon.

76 walks over to Hanzo, his arm outstretched. “Well?”

Hanzo is going to _kill_ Lena “Tracer” Oxton. 

**Author's Note:**

> i wanna give a huge shout-out to my friend, rachel! she helped me out SO MUCH with this while it was a work-in-progress...! THANKS RACHEL i really appreciate it!!! :') and, of course, i want to extend thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write more mchanzo content! y'all are awesome.


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